


manic panic in shockingly scarlet

by velvet_and_shortchanged



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Meteorstuck, Panic Attacks, Scandalous handholding, blood phobia, brief mention of self harm (nothing more i promise!)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_and_shortchanged/pseuds/velvet_and_shortchanged
Summary: Why does he let all this bullshit spill out? Is it really so goddamn hard for him to keep his mixed up emotions in for ten fucking seconds while his supposed best friend watches a movie with him? He's so fucking tired, tired of trying to monitor every little tiny move he makes. Is it pale, is it flushed?And why can't he stop thinking about blood?Blood, rushing through his ears.Blood, bright red in his veins.So much blood he's drowning in it.





	manic panic in shockingly scarlet

**Author's Note:**

> since I'm back again, have this! manic panic shockingly scarlet is the hair dye i use lol. but the first time i showered with it i started freaking out in the shower because there was so much red everywhere, it was really weirdly scary and i almost passed out. so i wrote this! :)
> 
> TW for panic attack, mention of self harm, lots of blood phobia stuff and self hatred. Karkat having Feelings™. And dave trying his best to be a good friend while having Feelings™.
> 
> EDIT: those BITCHES changed the name to vampire's kiss. i want to be a motorcycle gang leader, not bella from twilight

Karkat's on his way to the bathroom before Dave's hand even touches him.

 _How could he be so stupid?_  

So utterly fucking _stupid_ , stupid enough to think he could handle this. It was a movie. That was all it was. And then Dave's hand creeped towards his, and he blubbered something absolutely fucking ridiculous about quadrants, and ran. Why does he say this shit? He could just shut up. But he _never_ fucking does, he's a quadrant slut who can't keep his fucking feelings to himself. 

Why does he let all this bullshit spill out? Is it really so goddamn hard for him to keep his mixed up emotions in for ten fucking seconds while his supposed best friend watches a movie with him? He's so fucking tired, tired of trying to monitor every little tiny move he makes. Is it pale, is it flushed? _Why does it have to be so fucking difficult!_

The tiled floor is cold. He wished he had socks on, and he shut the door with a click as soon as he heard footsteps that were inevitably Dave's down the hall. He flicks on the lights, letting the bright white fill his eyes for a moment. Yeah, it's _blindingly_ bright white, and Vriska talks about trying to find a different bulb at an exponentially increasing volume every chance she gets. The unnatural fluorescence is comforting somehow, and for a moment, he feels clean of whatever just came over him, of _everything_. When the white fills his visionspheres, there's a sense of emptiness. All the red, washed away, a blank canvas.

_Who knew such a thing could feel so good?_

Who knew there was an alternative to the way his digestive tract twists up every time Dave smiles at him? That sickened feeling is gone in an instant, but it quickly returns as his eyes adjust.

How does he get that back?

His eyes drift over the bathroom counter and the various brightly colored bottles strewn across it. Hair gel, hair spray, various makeup items, bottles of things he don't and probably never will understand. None of that will fix it, and it feels like time is slipping away from him.

Is his face wet? No, it's not, he's just going fucking _crazy_. What the hell. Why is his pan acting like this? What the _fuck_?! It's hard to think, his pan seems clogged. 

Karkat heard something— no, wait. He heard nothing, that's the problem. Dave's footsteps pause, and then get louder. He's running out of time, he's running out of time, he needs to do something or he'll just fucking _dissolve_ into a puddle of insanity and filth the second he sees Dave again. The second he touches his oddly cool human skin, hear him laugh at something stupid, or mumble raps under his breath...

God, he has _so_ little time and _so_ much to fix.

He yanks the first bathroom drawer open as quietly as possible and with no hesitation. It almost slides off the metal rail that allows it to open. More makeup. He recognizes some of it, but that's not what he's looking for, painting a face on himself or Dave wouldn't help him now, he's far too deep for that to help. Karkat needs to cleanse himself of this, rid of all the red in him, rid of these horrible fucking feelings he can't stop himself from having.

The drawer is pushed back shut, and he tugs open the next one. First aid shit. Bandages, scissors... Maybe something here?

He relentlessly dug through the drawer, letting various tubes and bottles with long names clatter to ground. A bottle of pills falls and spills on the floor at some point, but he don't even bother looking at what it is, he's a troll on a mission to fix things. He can see the off-white base of the drawer, and he still hasn't found jack shit. There's an X-acto knife at the bottom, but seeing his blood would just make him vomit. His _blood_ being anywhere, touching anything that someone could _see_ or _touch_ or fucking _use_ , is the absolute last thing in the world he want. 

The bright red, _his_ bright red, staining the carpet. Staining towels for everyone to see. Everyone knows, but he can't take thinking about it being so obvious, because what if the drones do find him, and they fucking take him and—

No knife, no blood, that won't fix anything.

Abandoning the drawers, Karkat sank to his knees, letting them drag across the cold floor, hands slapping against the tile. His claws drag over the smooth surface, making that horrible scratching noise that makes him cringe, and his feet definitely crush a couple of pills on the way down. The powder smears across the floor, sticking to his feet, and his palms have lines on them from his claws. He had clenched his fists so fucking hard, trying to push back any more dangerous thoughts threatening to surface. 

Karkat is on the verge of a breakdown. Hell, he might be in the middle of one now.

His breathing has shallowed to this unstable, ragged panting of some sort of... rabid animal. He can hear it echo all over the bathroom, and it's fucking horrifying, actually. It's getting hard to see, his vision is going _red_ , is this what passing out is like? No. It's just red tinted tears clouding his sight.

There's a knock on the door, followed by Dave quietly saying his name. God, he can't fucking have him here, he can't see Karkat half curled up on cold bathroom tile, gasping for breath and feeling like all the blood in him was going to come spilling out his veins.

"Karkat, dude, I hear you in there."

All he gives in response is a hiccup. He slapped a hand over his mouth, the heavy panting hot against his sweaty palm, teeth dragging over his skin. 

He's choking, he's choking in his own blood, it's coming up his throat and he's now coughing, other hand clawing at the carpet, desperate to grip onto something.

He can't breath.

_He can't breath._

_He's choking._

Nothing else can come out. It really feels like he's going to puke, it feels like every drop of candy red blood is going to spill out if he doesn't keep himself contained. Yet he's _got_ to get it out, he feels so _utterly fucking disgusting_ , like he's been chemically contaminated. Everything he touches will turn to decay. He can't let Dave get hurt, he can't contaminate anybody else. As he looks up from the floor, the bright white light hits him again. The light is flashing in front of his eyes, the sound of Dave's insistent knocking, his breathing and his heart, pumping _bright red blood, candy red blood._

 _Too much it's too much it's too fucking much_.

Blinking and breathing shakily, he feels tears squeeze out of his eyes. They have been for several minutes, running down his cheeks and staining his shirt, he just hadn't noticed. 

Another shaky breath later, the doorknob jiggles. A hiss slips between his lips, and he desperately scooted back into a corner across from the shower. His instincts are taking over now. 

 _Hide_.

As the knob twists open, his hand makes a grab for the black towel slung lazily on the rack, and the rack clatters to the ground as he drapes it over his head. The sudden darkness is nice. He shut his eyes. _Take in the smell of semi-damp towel_. It's better than nothing, it's better than the brightness that began as cleansing but now was just too harsh. The door clicks shut again, but there isn't any sound of footsteps. Dave must have left. He can barely even think of him now, _finally_ , _pathetically_ , regaining his breath. A hand is still over his mouth, fingers tasting like soap and salty red tears. He can breath again, but it isn't steady, it's _inoutinout in... outinout..._

He's sobbing _again_ and he doesn't even know why. It doesn't help how much he's shaking.

Someone speaks, and he doesn't know who they are, or how they got here, or if they're even real. It's a mixing pot of different voices and words, the whole thing stirring in his brain and creating a clashing symphony in his ears, the sound of his blood rushing and the hum of the bathroom light and his own heartbeat and breath and _it's all too much._

The voice is soft and low, sounding almost like someone from one of his movies. The thought calms him briefly, and the sound cuts in and out like a staticky radio. He hears some words, and a moment later, is able to piece together a messy sentence in his dark cover.

_"— just happens sometimes, and you gotta power through—"_

When did he get in here. Karkat knows it's him. He could swear he locked the door, but it was hard to say with how hard his hands were shaking now. 

_"- and even when I get them and it's..."_

_"... but like, that'll be the only thing and_

_you just_

_have to_

breath _."_

Dave's right and he hates it.

Everything is quiet again. Blood is climbing back up his throat but he pushes past it, pushes it back down in a gulp of air and keeps going. 

Breath.

 The first try is disastrous, it's nothing more than a ragged cough, air didn't even enter his body.

The next few breaths are like that too, weak and broken and failing.

He can't do it.

_He's choking again._

But Dave's voice echoes softly in his head, encouraging and kind. 

_You're doing it, Karkat. Good job, man. Just keep breathing, okay? It's okay. I'm here, you're gonna be okay._

The next few breaths are real, they're partially full gulps of air, somewhat shallow, but he's getting air, he's fucking doing it. Dave keeps talking, and he keeps breathing. He gets better and better, until his breaths are nearing normal. Dave doesn't move an inch. He keeps talking, all the way through.

It makes him want to cry more.

A few minutes and a few steady breaths later, he feels the black towel being slowly pulled off his head, slow enough to give him the chance to pull it back down. Dave is too fucking caring, too fucking good to him. Karkat doesn't protest, lets the towel slip off and hit the ground beside him with a quiet flop. 

His eyes are still screwed shut, but he hears someone else breathing. Dave was still there. _Watching_ him.

They both are just there, quietly breathing. Nothing more.

It takes another moment, but Karkat slowly opened two reddened eyes, trying not to think about how gross and pathetic he looked. Dave was hovering a foot in the air on his stomach, arms crossed as he watched Karkat quietly. His eyebrows raised above his shades as Karkat looked up at him.

"Hey," He offered softly.

Karkat didn't say a word back. Just stared up at him. His shades looked smudged with either a disgusting amount of fingerprints, or some god awful food. Probably Dorito dust. Fucking _gross_. The brief hilarity and disgust takes his mind off everything, until Dave's voice comes back into focus.

"Have you. Uh. Gotten panic attacks before..?" 

The first and only word out of Karkat's mouth is a weak, confused " _what_ ". Panic attack? The words were familiar separate, common enough words. But together? No, together they weren't recognized by the troll. It was clearly a human term, something medical that troll society never bothered to pick up on. Medical conditions weren't widely recognized, and how would Karkat get access to information about specialty, taboo highblood afflictions?

"Guess not." Dave scratched his head, sighing softly and mumbling about "shitty troll school". Karkat wrinkled his nose, huffing a sob and blinking away more tears to let a crackly, weakened voice out. 

"The fuck- _fuck_ are you on about, Strider?" Yeah. Definitely not his best. But he was fucking speaking, and that was an improvement from being a shaking, whimpering mess. God, he needed a fucking pan transplant for all the bullshit going up in there, making him act like this. He'd already spent who knows how long, sobbing on the floor like a goddamn _imbecile_.

"I can literally see you judging yourself in your head, man. It's _fine_. Shit happens, you can't control your brain having a level five evacuation drill on your poor troll ass without warning." Dave called him out with ease, but he wasn't stupid, he read the room and floated closer, abandoning the air after a moment and gently setting himself down on the cold tile floor in front of Karkat. 

The troll didn't even bother protesting against his words now, his voice was weak and shaky, he didn't have the energy, and it was late. His eyes were heavy, breathing now soft and huffy.

Dave waited a beat before offering a hand, sliding it across the floor, setting two fingers on top of Karkat's. He almost flinched, blinking repeatedly and scraping his claws across the tiled floor. Dave didn't say a word, didn't give any emotion. Not a single fucking clue on his face about what was going on inside that blond head. Kept his hand there for a moment. _Waiting_. Testing the waters. They were still both silent, not a word from either. Karkat, in a voiceless silence. Dave, in stony solidarity.

Karkat flipped his hand over, letting his fingers close around Dave's, their palms rubbing together gently, fingers entwining with no hesitation from either party.

Dave's hand was so cold, almost clammy. Even the highbloods weren't this frigid at their coldest. His skin was so much smoother, less leathery, and it was just... pleasant. Comfortable. 

He was even able to keep his breathing under control, in, out, in, out. Nothing too crazy. The silence remained firm, Dave's thumb absently tracing over Karkat's palm. How did he go from mental breakdown after their hands brush, to holding hands with _Dave Strider_ on the floor of the bathroom. How did _that_ happen? How the fuck did he pull himself together like that?

It's because he didn't. _Dave_ did.

God, it was so fucking _sad_. Karkat couldn't even get himself together, he needed the help of his fucking friend to breath. How could he be so fucking _pathetic_? Couldn't even handle himself. Couldn't handle himself, couldn't handle his friends, couldn't handle shit, because he was shit.

"Dude, stop, okay. None of that's fucking true," Dave murmured.

Okay, so apparently, he was mumbling all that shit under his breath again. Fucking great.

The human was already scooting forwards and turning to the side, sidling up next to Karkat, their thighs brushing. That, however, gets his bloodpusher jump started again, loud in his ears, telling his air sacs to get a fucking move on. But Dave squeezes his hand gently, sending a quick tingle up his arm. His body responds immediately, hushing down to background noise again. Karkat huffed out a rattling, weakened click. It's nothing like what they would sound like if he was actually fucking stable, a lite version. 

"What's that one mean?" 

Karkat clicked at him again, slightly less broken than the last. Humans don't have chirpboxes, right. "Okay," He mumbled, nodding. "Means I'm fucking okay."

Cool guy acknowledging head bob from Dave. Cool, dude, cool. He was keeping the façade strong today, Karkat could remember how he had reacted to the first of his "alien bug sounds". Apparently, they were very popular among the mammal aliens.

Weird, huh.

This was probably the quietest either of them had either been. A fucking record, honestly. But it seemed as though neither could find anything to make a crack in the massive fucking iceberg that was the tension between them at the moment.

That was fine for now. They didn't have to talk. 

But after enough silence, it all came spilling out again. Karkat just couldn't seem to keep a handle on his mouth, could he. 

"Look, I really, seriously fucked up by just fucking bolting when your hand _barely_ touched mine, like I've seen an absolutely ridiculous amount of great movies where that exact scene is completely crucial to the beginning of a perfect matespritship, but obviously we aren't actually matesprits hahaha that would be _fucking_ _crazy_ because of all your human sexuality shit involving gender identity and apparently having different sets of genitals for some crazy ass fucking reason, and I didn't mean to freak you the fuck out by running at the first sign of danger but my pan has been seemingly smashed against the ground several times because it makes me _freak the fuck out_ over trivial bullshit that no one should _ever_ freak out over so what I'm fucking saying is,  _sorry_."

Dave blinked.

Yeah, maybe give the guy a second to process all that.

"It's fucking cool, dude, fucking cooler than—"

" _Don't_." Karkat cut him off, raising his eyebrows warningly.

He promptly shut the fuck up. Snapped his jaw shut, pulling his fingers over his lips before flicking them upwards. Human thing, right. Throwing away the key. Translation, he was going to shut the fuck up. Karkat easily caught the corners of his mouth curling up, however.

Karkat turned his head away, staring at the ground, adjusting his hand between Dave's fingers and gnawing on his lip to avoid a smile.

Dave tugged on his arm a moment later, raising his eyebrows above his shades and nodding to the door.

"Wanna go watch Teletubbies? It's a creepy ass kid's show. 

You'll love it."

Karkat nodded, and they both stood up slowly, hands casually linked, and walked back to the living room.

(It's ultimately decided that Tinky Winky is the Mayor in an alternate, terrifying universe, and that handholding is pretty fucking cool.)

(And like, not gay or anything.)

(Whatever that means.)

**Author's Note:**

> ( the way dave handles this is probably Not Ideal for a lot of people but he's a dumbass teenager who's struggling too and doing his best, and some people like/don't mind being touched after a panic attack. i am one of them! helps me reassert myself and shit. basically, don't argue with me on this yall
> 
> Pretty sure I'm going to make this multi chapter! Don't count on it, but I'm thinking of going to either 3 or 5. Guess we'll see lol


End file.
